The Not So Secret Diary of Handsome Sampson

So, Auckland’s least kept secret is out.
I am not standing for re-election.
Or as Bevan would have said it jocularly in those long ago fun fun days I am not “standing” for re-erection. Oh, those days (and nights) were wonderful. Even these days (and nights) I lie in bed, alone, clawing back every golden moment—the touch, the feel, the silk, the whip(s)—He He.
Will those moments come again?
Will I?
As for Suckland? You can suck yourself. I am not bitter. But as a city, you do not know what you are losing. And you know why you don’t know? Let me tell you—you do not know what you are losing because you are so used to losing that you don’t recognise it anymore. You don’t know a loser when you see one. I knew that as soon as you elected me.
Now you have lost me.
Suck on that.
(Why does she keep coming back to me?)
And what are you going to get to replace me? Goff? Banks?
Don’t make me laugh. Neither of them is twice the man I am. Neither of them will even begin to leave the legacy I have left Suckland. I will go down (oh God, not again) as the greatest mayor this city has ever had. Or ever will have. It was me! It was me who gave the councillors their new chambers and toilets, it was me who gave council staff their new building, it was me who gave every Sucklander the right to look after their berms, it was me who enabled every Sucklander paying rates the chance to contribute more to their city.
Their city.
Not mine.
I cannot be part of a city that has no gratitude.
Will I miss anything?
No.
Will you miss anything?
Yes.
Everything.
Did you see my speech welcoming the All Blacks back after their World Cup win? How jocular was I? All that rousing magic I delivered. And did you see me give the “key” to Richie, joking that there was no actual key? You don’t find that kind of humour everyday. No wonder people often call me a joke.
So, I am going. Gone.
I would have won again, you know that don’t you?
The people love me.
The people love me.
The people love me.
“Len, you are the MAN!”
How often I think that—lying in bed clawing back every golden moment—alone.

The not so secret diary of Handsome Sampson

So, some of my so-called supporters left me a “blunt” message. What a joke! They say I will have no funding or volunteer support if I stand for re-election. What a joke! Joke! Joke! Joke! I should never have gone to the Left. They are so finicky (is that a word?) and will go with anyone they think will listen to them. For goodness sake, that’s how I got in in the first place! I should have gone to the right where my true heart has always been. They would have stuck by me. They stick by everyone. Doesn’t matter what they do. Bevan told me that. I miss Bevan. Couldn’t stand that Stephen Joyce though. But all is not lost yet. The Pennies haven’t dropped! Ha, ha. Penny H will stand by me, because she has no show against Goff and Penny W, well she will stand by me because I make her feel important. As for the rest of them? Who cares! What are they, 20 votes? What people don’t understand about me is that I am resilient. I can keep it up, as Bevan used to say. I am a survivor. The world can throw everything it likes at me. Who is Mike Hosking anyway? And come election time and my smile—people love that smile—starts appearing on the billboards people will say “Well, Len’s a good bloke. Done a lot for this city. Want him in again.” That’s what they will say. Anyway, I digress. This is a diary. What have I done today? Not a lot, to be honest—and I try not to be. Went to my therapist. And that reminds me, I need to look up the meaning of delusional.

Handsome Sampson

My Dearest Bev

I do so prefer calling you Bev. It is somehow more masculine, somehow less—well…gay, than calling you Bevan. You don’t mind, do you? Of course you don’t. You never minded anything I did, did you? That is one of the things I loved about you…when I knew you.

Sorry about that, I didn’t intend to be maudlin. It is just that I miss you so. I scan the social pages of the Herald, but you are not there. I am. But you are not. It is as if you have dropped off the face of the earth. Understandable, given what you/we went through. But I am a victim here, too. You can’t imagine how excruciating it was to go out in those first weeks after our story broke. I just wanted to stay home and in bed. But I wasn’t allowed there. I could have of course gone to the Sky City Grand and gone to bed. But that would have brought back memories—memories of you

So, I didn’t. I went to those functions instead. To be booed. I was even booed at the Auckland Nines. How unfair is that? After so long. Did you see me on the television? Do you see me, and still think of me as your Handsome Sampson? I am sure you do. I hope you do. I still think of you as my little Chinese Takeaway. Such laughs, we had.

Not many laughs these days. I find most of my councillors revolting—in both senses of the world. How you and I laughed about them! We could in those days, because it was hard to take this rag-tag bunch seriously—after all, they were elected by Aucklanders. To be fair (as the Mad Butcher says), they still can’t be taken seriously. What really hurts is that they don’t take ME seriously. To be fair (thanks Butch), they never did. Just because I came from South Auckland. But I showed them. Just let them open THEIR rates demands and then open mine. J

To get away from them, I could choose to do a round of visits to the CCOs. But very few of them know me or notice me. I went to Auckland Transport the other day, and reception asked for my name and gave me one of those stick-on ID labels. AND I was told that I would have to use Wilson Car Parks because all their spaces were reserved for AT executives! How humiliating is that? Wait until they get their rate demands!!!! AND they should be using pubic transport rather than their cars.

People are so unkind to me. John Key won’t speak to me, Steven Joyce laughs at me, Iwi ignore me, and Cameron Slater has forgotten me.

I am so lonely.

Come home to me.

Room 406.

Your Handsome Sampson.